What Became of The Likely Lads
by Psychedalek
Summary: I quite liked the storyline of Jake and Eli as stoners, so I decided to elaborate on it a little bit. This will also explore a new side of Clare, and the (pretty dysfunctional, but also pretty enjoyable) family dynamic between Jake, Eli, and Clare. Rated M for explicit drug use, coarse language, and sexual content.


DEGRASSI - ELI AND CLARE AND JAKE

"Here, man, it's still got a cherry"

Jake passes me his pipe, a pathetic little two hitter in the rasta colours. Kitschy as can be, and it still cost him thirty bucks from a store on Queen West. Fucking Toronto. Canadians aren't as great as they say we are - in a way, we're the Robin Hoods of sin. As soon as we find out someone else isn't prim and proper, it's open season for exploitation. What the fuck are they going to do, after all? They're just as bad as we are.

Anyway, he hands me this shitty pipe, and I take a drag. It might be a tacky piece of crap, but it's better than joints. They waste all the good bud. Jake's parents aren't home, so we're hotboxing his room. Probably not the best idea, but whatever. There's a window we can open. We own some febreeze. We've got a Sublime CD on. Clare won't be home for a few hours.

"Dude, whatever happened on your spring break trip, anyway? Adam said something about his brother and marriage. Pretty intense." I say.

"Fuck, man. Well, basically it consisted of bitch fights, mom drama, and a really awkward bachelor party. And, well, my ex having sex with a billionaire. Instead of me. But you know that part, anyway." Jake is the picture of bliss, sprawled out on his bed with a newly rolled joint stuck out of his mouth. The man truly has no taste, and apparently no concept of sharing. He thinks this tactic works, the glazed looks and the aimless smiles, but I know he's shooting himself on the inside. He regrets leaving her that night, but it'll be alright. He'll either get over her, or get over the incident. And either way, I'll help him get out of this miserable spell. I don't quite know how it happened, but Jake and I are kind of bros now.

I tip the ashed bowl into his rubbish bin, and put on a different CD. I'm tired of Sublime, it's too stoner, too artificially happy. I rifle out Jackson Square from his CD stack, by The Arkells. I remember seeing these guys in Hamilton once, where they're from. I was with Julia and we were almost too drunk to take the Go Train back, but that gig is perfect in my memory. It was incredible, they were just so goddamn proud of their city, nearly a reference in every song. Steel town, The Hammer; I love Hamilton, it's so much better than Toronto. I swear to God, it's the most working class place in Ontario, and they're proud of it. It reminds me of Manchester, of Liverpool, of a million other places I'd rather be than try-hard Toronto. It reminds me of Oasis and The Beatles, of Johnny Rotten and Joey Ramone. I mean, the city is also a stinking hole of pollution, but it's at least a genuine place. And God, is the music better and the weed cheaper. And on this sentiment, I yank the joint out of Jake's hand, and cringingly inhale. Why do people think this is classier than pipes?

"You might not want to do that," Jake says airily, a smirk creeping onto his face.

"Well duh I don't want to. But it's better than using your easy bake oven over there." He's freaking me out, he seems like he's scheming something.

"Nah, man. It's 6. Clare's home. I just heard her come in the door. You were busy with the CD player, muttering some shit about Arkell Street. Oh, and a sidenote, I think Clare still has an actual easy bake oven. You should ask to borrow it. Hash brownies."

"No, no, no, not funny, shit..." Clare was not going to like this at all. She's not keen on my friendship with Jake. Mostly because our friendship is comprised of illegal activities. I run to the window and open it right as Clare finishes the last step on the stairs and opens the door into Jake's room.

"Oh, Eli... I didn't know you would be over." She says quietly, sniffing the air. She still thinks Jake is a bad influence on me. She doesn't realise that I was born a sinner, while he's just a disillusioned saint.

"You should have texted me, I would have came home earlier so we could have hung out before my mom comes home." By hang out, she means make out. She really shouldn't say things like this when I'm high. I sort of get... in a state, when she's around and I'm stoned. And that would be pretty awkward with her stepbrother in the room, even if he is my friend. That's the one problem about having your girlfriend's stepbrother as your best friend, too. You can't ask him for tips on how to get into her knickers, because he'll instantly go into protective mode. Regardless of the fact that he asked himself that question a few months ago, brothers are brothers. But no matter how much divine intervention Jake decides to give me in the end, I highly doubt I will get into Clare's pants anyway. She's conservative, unlike me - I don't judge her for this, because it's her faith and all. I'm not much into religion, myself, but it's a personal choice. But no matter how logically I respect her choices, I'm seventeen. It's pretty self-explanatory.

"I'm sorry, Clare. I forgot... I don't know where my phone is, anyway. Jake, where's my phone?" I say, suddenly feeling far more stoned than I actually am. I don't know whether it's nerves or guilt or just the fact that Clare stops me dead in my tracks anyway.

Jake doesn't answer. He's too busy inspecting a smudge on my iPad screen. I don't know whether this is his low tolerance or a rather unclever avoidance of conflict, but it's working. Clare's stare of daggers is entirely focused on me.

"I'm sorry, Clare. I know you don't like it, but... I mean, Jake and I do. We're allowed to like different stuff. You know I wouldn't ever make you do it." God, I hope she won't be mad at me. She doesn't understand because she's never done it.

"Well, what if I want to try? You guys seem so keen on it. I'm sure I could handle it, and y'know, it's probably not everything it's cracked up to be. At least then you two can stop sitting there all superior, as if I'm some naive kid." There is as much bile in her tone as in her stare, but this perks Jake up nonetheless.

"Wait, what? Did I just hear Clare say she wants to get high? My lovely, pure, stepsister? The patron saint of mum and dad?"

This does the trick. Defiantly, she grabs the joint from my hand and sucks in. A few seconds later, she exhales without a cough.

"I'm not as pure as you think I am." She says to Jake, now smiling. "And God knows, I don't want you thinking that", she mutters to me, grabbing my hand and dragging me off the bed. We walk past Jake, now spinning in a desk chair. We walk past the doorframe, closing the door as we go. We walk past her parents room, the office, the bathroom, until we reach the end of the hall. Clare's room.

"See? I'm not a buzzkill." She says, before going down to kiss my neck.

"I never thought you were, promise." I can feel her smiling as she comes back up to my lips.

"Seeing as I'm breaking the rules tonight, I might as well break a few more..." She mutters, undoing the top button of my shirt, going down farther with every moment of silence. I push her against the wall, kissing her harder than I normally would. I want her to talk dirty to me more, I want to push her onto the bed and fuck her senseless, I want to corrupt every innocent thought in her head. It takes every ounce of restraint I have to say what I say next.

"Well... don't break too many. You shouldn't have your first... well, I don't want to take advantage of you. While you're high."

"Oh... okay. Eli, I'm sorry. I thought you wanted..." She pouts. Crap, now I've gotten her all sad. Why do I try to be noble?

"No, no, I really do want to. But not like this." I let go of her, no longer pinning her against the wall, admitting defeat to my apparent gallantry and my obvious blue balls. But now it's Clare taking up the lead, wrapping her arms around my neck and kissing me until I'm sure she's drove all of the drugs from my brain with her own brand of intoxication. She pushes me into her desk chair and sits on my lap.


End file.
